Murk and Mud
by Rjalker
Summary: Swamp monsters, obols, and ambushes, oh my! Every planet has its quirks, but on most planets, you're allowed to actually /talk/ about the planet. Not on this one, though. And the punishment for breaking that rule? Well, there's nothing like a good swamp monster horror story to make you want to explore the universe...right?
1. Chapter 1

Sam was drowning.

Her mouth opened in a voiceless scream, and more of the swampy water slammed into her lungs and filled her throat, choking her until the thrashing of her limbs—because _something_ had grabbed a hold of her arms and legs and had wrapped itself around her ribcage—and the terrifying press of the water was all she knew.

How had this happened?

Not even a minute ago she'd been following their guide—Deia Marous, the boy had called her, the old woman who was so shrunken and tired by age that she rode on his shoulders—across the swampland's path that they inhabitants of the planet had built, Colonel O'Neill and Daniel infront of her, and Teal'c behind, in his usual protective stance. She remembered hearing a sound in the dense rain-forest trees to her right, and a flicker of the light out of the corner of her eye...

...And then she was drowning.

There was no in between.

One moment she was alive and breathing and happy.

And now...

The thing wrapped around her chest squeezed tighter, and fire raced along her ribs in agony that wanted to choke the air from her soul.

Against her will, her mouth opened again, in a scream, in a cry, in a desperate gasp for the oxygen _that wasn't there_, and her lungs again filled themselves to the breaking point with the filthy stagnant water that filled the swamps of the planet whose name was never to be spoken.

Deia Marous used the wooden cane she carried to slam into the head of anyone that dared even mention the word _planet_ in her vicinity. It would have been funny, if not for the bruise that had erupted on her cheek, and the knob on the back of her head.

She could feel it now, the blood that had long since dried, drifting away from her skin to mix with the murky depths, floating away in translucent strands of deep crimson against the impossibly dark green that met her sight when she dared to open her eyes.

But the water burned like acid, forcing her to keep herself blind and lost as she battled against the—what was it? Some sort of plant? Had she gotten tangled? Was it an animal? A squid? A _snake_?—_thing _that was keeping her trapped beneath the water that should have only been a foot deep.

But no, _no_, they'd been warned, hadn't they? Deia Marous has warned them, as she shook that damned cane threateningly at them. They came for the ones that talked about the planet. The world as a whole, she said, was holy to them. Anyone that dared breach the taboo disappeared before a day had passed.

She'd never said who 'they' were. Never even bothered to explain anything.

But she'd made sure to stay as far away from Sam as possible.

_Jolinar!_ The word was a scream in her mind, desperate for an answer. But the symbiote didn't respond. Jolinar couldn't hear her.

The silence in her head was as deafening as the crush of water around her.

For all Sam knew, she was dead already.

Lights danced chaotically in the darkness behind her closed eyes, and the movement of her limbs was slowing. Weakness tugged at her bones, until she couldn't even find the strength to lift her arms in another desperate attempt to reach the surface swirling somewhere above her head.

The thing wrapped around her chest now the only thing keeping her in place, her arms drifted limply, and one last bubble of air found it way out of her lungs and into the green water that pressed down upon her.

Her mind struggled to piece together one final word against the fog rolling in on her, and she opened her eyes for one last glimpse of the water around her, as though hoping, by some miracle, that she would see her symbiote twisting through the murk, safe and alive to go on without her.

_Jolinar_…

But the darkness was absolute, and she could still feel the weight of the Tok'ra in the back of her mind.

They were going to die together.

If she'd been able to, she would have cried.

Martouf and Lantash would lose everything again, and they would lose them. Jack, and Daniel and Teal'c would refuse to go on without her. They wouldn't give up on rescuing her even if they knew it was pointless. They would keep going until they pulled her lifeless body from the swamp.

They all shared nightmares of drowning.

And now they would have another wreath to send through the wormhole. Another casket to lower into the ground. Another lost soul for the Tok'ra to mourn.

She faded to darkness not long afterward, her arms held out to the sides by the pull of the water, her head tilted toward the surface, eyes blank and staring.

* * *

On the surface, a single bubble of oxygen had clawed its way to the surface, where it rested amongst the algae and water plants, reflecting back the distraught and horror that painted the faces of everyone standing on the rickety wooden platform that carved what was supposed to have been a safe path through the treacherous mire.

The old woman who sat on the shoulders of a young boy crossed her arms over her chest, and kicked at his shoulder with her feet. "Let's go, Baiam." She growled in her raspy voice, "If these fools want to be taken as well, then let them."

The old woman didn't even flinch when Jack O'neill pulled his gun out and aimed it in her direction, and neither did the boy carrying her.

"Your weapons won't work anymore." She called over her shoulder as they began to walk away.

She'd warned them what would happen if they broke the taboo.

These people said they were explorers, that they wanted to learn.

Maybe now they actually would.

She'd lost a granddaughter to the Murk, and she would never forget it.

She had a feeling that these "explorers" would now be much more inclined to _listen_ to what she had to tell them. They hadn't believed her about the Murk, and now one of them was gone.

She almost laughed at the irony, but settled for grinning widely as the 'team' dragged themselves along after her with hushed whispers and snarls of anger and disbelief.

No doubt, they'd finally noticed the soldiers that stood between them at the Ashna-ring. They weren't leaving the swamp until her people had answers.

But she would make sure they were sent back to wherever they had come from with an obol for their lost companion's soul.

They didn't want any more ghosts hanging around the Ashna-ring than they had already.


	2. Chapter 2

Deia Marouse gazed intently at the two Tau'ri and their womb-walker companion from her perch on Kaiam's shoulders, the obols she had redovered from the Spring of Heretics burning cooly in one ancient, knobby hand. Baiam had traded duties with his twin sister the day before, and if her memory served her (which she knew it did), he would now be out learning to hunt with his mother.

The outsiders were gathered in a small group at the edge of the village, their leader, the second oldest, speaking in sharp tones, and gripping his weapon of black metal with a white knuckled hold. The womb-walker remained silent, his expression taut and grim.

For a few more minutes, the argument went on, the voices held too low for her to make out the words, until the youngest gave a frustrated growl, and stormed away.

In her direction, incidently.

"Forward, Kaiam" She said softly.

The girl moved forward without hesitation, her movements smooth and purposeful so that Deia Marouse was barely even jostled.

The young Tau'ri noticed her immediately, and some of the anger left his expression, only to be replaced with tense wariness and regret.

"Deia Marouse," he said, respectfully, and sweeping one hand out to touch her forehead with the back of his hand for a moment, as he had been taught, in the formal greeting demanded of non-kin when interacting with her, and obviously doing his best to disregard Kaiam's presence, "I am sorry to tell you, but my friends and I, we will not be staying. Our leaders, back on our-I, I mean, our leaders have recalled us. They no longer trust our judgement concerning your people because of..." Pain reached his eyes, but he continued firmly, "Because of what happened to our friend."

This news was not unexpected, and Deia Marouse nodded slowly, understanding. But said, before he could speak again, "You wish to discontinue our negotiations?"

They had answered the council's demands for information easily, though at first reluctantly, upset as they were over their friend being taken. Her people had been assured that the explorers truely meant no harm, despite the fact that they counted the womb-walker as a trusted ally.

The young man shook his head quickly. "No, no, my people still wish to be friends, but they are going to send another team to negotiate. If, of course, that is acceptable to the council?" He did not make it obvious, but it was obvious nonetheless, that he wished her to say that it would not be.

"That is acceptable." She said, dispelling whatever hopes he had. "You will be leaving soon, I gather?" Her gaze darted toward the heavy pack he had over his shoulders, that he had first worn after exiting the Ashna-ring, and had removed the day before, after his people had been given one of the guest houses to use.

His face became regretful once more. "Yes," he confirmed, "Right away, in fact. Jack is insisting on it." He attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Before you leave," she said, her voice turning solemn, "I must speak with your people. Your leader, and the womb-walker, must be present for my words as well, for they concern you all."

A hint of worry entered the young man's face, but he nodded, and turned to gesture to his companions that they should approach.

Deia Marouse would have lifted an impressed eyebrow if the young man hadn't already turned back to her. He learned quickly.

A small hand gently squeezed her leg.

"My granddaughter thanks you for your consideration." She said, "As do I."

It was not formal, any of it, but then, there were exceptions to every rule.

The leader's face was as sharp as his words before when he stood before her, his weapon held high against his chest so that she would see it, his scowl dark with bitterness and impotent anger. The womb-walker was impassive, but solemnly inclined his head to her when he stood next to the young man.

She spoke before the leader could snap out the words so obviously waiting on his tongue. "You must take these." She said softly, lifting the hand that held the obols, "And place them in a pool of water at a place of reverence to you." She opened her hand to show them the obols, cool against her aged palm.

"Your friend was not a single soul residing in a body." She said.

It was not a question, but the young man spoke up, as though it had been.

"Yes, you mean Jolinar." He said softly, "Sam was a Tok'ra."

Her mouth twitched slightly at the casual tossing about of names, but she nodded.

"Three obols, for the three souls." She said, "And three companions to carry them to their final resting place. Hold out your hands." She said sternly.

The young man and womb-walker did so, but the leader narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Obol?" He questioned flatly, turning his head to look at the young man.

The young man nodded quickly. "It's a type of coin. It's used to pay the ferryman who helpsthe dead to cross the river separating this world from the afterlife."

The leader's frown deepened. "Well why do we need them, then?" He demanded, switching his gaze between her and the young man. "You're not going to kill us in some sacrificial ritual, are you?" He asked, his tone only slightly sarcastic. His grip on the weapon tightened.

She gazed at him calmly, unperturbed. "My people have not practiced such barbarism for many hundred years." She said flatly, growing weary of his disrespect, "Hold out your hands."

This time, they all did as commanded and she turned first to the leader, who glared at her still, and only reluctantly held out one hand.

"The soul of the woman." She said, dropping the white obol into his outstretched hand, "Care for it well, Jack O'Neill. It is not some foolish trinket to be discarded at a whim." Her gaze bored into his for a few moments, and his eyes glowed with the flames of anger. But he said nothing, and she turned next to end womb-walker.

"The soul of the serpent." She said, pressing the dark blue stone into his hand. His fingers curled tightly around it, and he bowed his head once more.

"I will make sure it comes to no harm." He said softly.

She nodded, gladly, and turned to the young man.

"The soul of the child." She said, setting the ice-blue obol against his hand.

His fingers closed around it, but his face showed nothing but horror and shock.

"W-what?" His voice was hoarse.

"Child?" The leader snapped, his eyes now blazing, "What the hell do you mean, child?" He took a step forward, his entire body tensed with waiting violence.

"They are all of them equal in weight." She snapped, her paitiende thinning at their callous rejection, "We do not simply abandon that which is lost to us." Her voice was cold. Had she misjudged these outsiders so wrongly?

Beneath her, she could feel Kaiam tensed with anger, but her granddaughter managed to restrain herself from speaking, as she had been taught.

But she knew what she was thinking. It had been two years since Daiam had been lost to the murk, but there was no forgetting the loss of a sibling, and no forgiving of the disregard these outsiders were showing for the children they had become.

"Are you telling me Carter was pregnant?" He leader's voice was incredulous and enraged, and filled with horriblepain. "How-wait," he suddenlyspun to face the young man, face contorting, "Why did you get-"

"There's been some sort of mistake." The young man said, interrupting his leader, his voice almost calm again, as though he had remembered something he had forgotten, "Sam couldn't have been uh, with Jolinar's host, any child she had would be a harcesis, especially with Lantash and Martouf as the father. And ther's no way that could happen. Sam wouldn't have, uh, um-" he seemed to stumble over his words, before he realized what his leader had been saying, his eyes widening in shock. "Jack, how could you think-no, no, nevermind. that doesn't matter." He shook his head, then turned to gaze at her seriously. "What do you mean by child?" He asked, "We don't understand. To us, a child is, is an infant. A baby. A kid. It doesn't mean anything else as far as we know."

Deia Marouse lifted her eyebrows. "I see..." She said slowly, frowning deeply. "Your friend. The woman, and the serpent. They are now no longer as they were. They are new. They are the child." She shook her head, when it became obvious the young man wanted to press further. "We do not speak of them." She hissed. "To speak of them is to draw them to us. You must not speak of it. You must not speak of your friend any longer, or you will endanger us all."

They had already spoken the names of the woman and serpent once. And the leader had referred to the woman by her family name. Twice more, and...

"You must not speak their names." She said, starting to become worried, "You must not name them. You must not."

The leader glared. "Why not?" He demanded.

"Ja-Jack, just don't." The young man said, stopping the leader when he opened his mouth to say more. "I already explained it to you last night."

"Well I wasn't listening." The leader snapped, glaring, "Why the hell can't we say Sa-"

"O'Neill." The womb-walker said firmly, turning to give the leader a sharp glance, "Daniel Jackson has explained already that these people have a name taboo. For you to speak the names of the dead, after they have already requested that you not, would be a grave insult. Is that not correct?" He looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded sharply, her esteem of him going up immensely.

"Many Native American tribes practiced the same thing," the young man explained, his tone one of tired impatience, "they believed that calling the name of an animal would make that animal hear you. For instance, instead of calling bears bears, they refer to them as 'grandfather', or 'old man', or even 'hey you with the ears'."

"Then these people you speak of arewise." Deia Marouse saidgravely, her anger slowly settling back down.

"In fact," the womb-walker once again interrupted as the leader went to say something, "I believe the act of breaking the taboo would be sufficient enough of an offense for these people to break off all further negotiation and trade agreements, would you not agree, Deia Marouse?"

Womb-walker or not, she was beginning to like him.

"Indeed." She agreed, staring hard at the leader, who still looked ready to protest. "Such an act, and especially after being informed of its seriousness, would be unforgivable."

It could even start a war, but she did not tell them that.

"Once you are returned to your people, you may speak freely." She said, feeling they should have some allowance, "But while you are guest among my people, you will abide by our rules." Once they stepped through the Ashna-ring, they would be too far away for the children to be able to hear their names being called, and thus would cause no danger.

"Take care of the obols." She said firmly, giving them one last glance over, "And place them in a pool of water in an area of reverence to you."

Then she pressed one foot into Kaiam's shoulder, bidding her granddaughter to turn back toward the center of the village, ending the conversation, and leaving the outsiders their own business. No doubt, they were anxious to return to their people, and would not hesitate to reach the Ashna-ring before too much time had passed.

"Shall we see if your brother has had any success with his hunting lessons?" She asked as they walked, giving her granddaughter permission to speak by asking a direct question, "I am hungry, are you, as well?"

But Kaiam never had been one much for speaking, even with permission, and only hurried excitedly toward her family's dwelling where cooking spoke was rising from the roof in answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Um. This unexpectedly became a crossover with Farscape, but it doesn't change anything, and all will be explained...eventually. And it's AU as heck so don't worry about spoilers, at least not in this fic.**

* * *

John was waiting for them the moment they stepped through the wormhole, SG13 standing respectfully behind him, waiting their turn to step through to the planet that had cost Earth another of its children.

John's gaze darted among those departing the Stargate hopefully, passing over Teal'c, Daniel, and Jack, before locking on the open gate behind them, hoping against hope that it had all just been some horrible, horrible prank.

He had already lost Aeryn for the third time. He couldn't lose Sam and Jolinar. Not when they were just starting to become friends. Hadn't something like this happened years before, when Sam and Jolinar had first blended? They'd been gone for an entire year. Weirder things had happened. Way weirder things had happened. They could still be alive...

"Hey, hey," he said, jumping forward so he could walk backwards infront of Jack as the man started to leave the gate room without acknowledging him, "Let's not give up hope just yet, alright? Remember that time an angry mob tried to drown Teal'c, but Junior managed to keep him alive? Yeah, I read that file, I read all the files, remember?-look, who's to say Jolinar couldn't have done the same thing?" He managed to make it all the way to where the corridor started branching off into different directions before he had to stop, not sure which way Jack was going to go, but guessing the infirmary. "She's a lot older than Junior, and has probably had way more hosts. She's probably an expert on human anato-"

"Crichton, not now." The other man growled, stepping around him and continuing down the corridor.

John looked expectantly at Daniel, who was the closest behind Jack, and when he was met with no hostility, started walking beside him, matching his pace step for step.

"Come on, Doc," he said, "Aeryn survived drowning once, and I mean actually drowning, as in dead, not the sort of drowning you can fix with CPR, and she didn't have a symbiote to help her. Now, granted, it was all because of some sort of mystical voodoo on Zhaan's part, but-"

"The water in the swamp," Daniel said quietly, interrupting him, "Is toxic to Goa'uld, which is why the society we found was able to exist in the first place. Sam assured us that she only had a headache, and our guide informed us that she would be fine unless she actually drank some of the stuff."

John's smile faltered.

Sam and Jolinar...had drowned.

"Oh." He said dumbly.

He stopped walking, his brow furrowing in thought, and Daniel continued on without him.

"Will you be alright, John Crichton?" Teal'c's voice came from behind him, and he looked up in time to see the warrior pause beside him in the wide hallway.

"Uh," he said, for a moment seeing D'argo in the Jaffa's place, and feeling a sudden stab of lonelines even as his mind still whirled, trying to think of alternate explanations for what had happened, "Yeah, yeah, sure."

He waved his team-mate on aimlessly, then stood by himself in the middle of the hallway once Teal'c had left.

He stared around him at the grey walls and floor, then turned silently, barely seeing the hallway around him, and headed toward his rooms, his steps as heavy as though the Earth were trying to pull him down, a frown still etched onto his face.

* * *

Janet Fraiser sat heavily in one of the hospital's beds, feeling weaker than she had since the moment she had woken up several hours ago.

It felt like her mind had been disconnected from her body.

It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

...Could it?

She stared down at her hands, trembling slightly against the white sheets, and imagined that her friend's hand clasped it. Sam and Jolinar should have been the first visitors she saw after waking up. She would have had it no other way. They should have been sitting next to her, laughing and smiling and sad all at the same time, catching her up on everything she had missed.

Just as she had done for them so many years ago.

But now they couldn't. They were gone. She wasn't even supposed to have known yet, but the entire hospital was abuzz with the news. Somehow, it had gotten out, and couldn't be contained.

Oh, god, Cassy. She would know soon. She would hear about it. She-she had to tell her, it wasn't just something you could learn from a random stranger. They wouldn't understand that she...that she'd lost another parent...

A breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to force it back down. She couldn't. She couldn't do that to her daughter, not again, not afterward everything she had already gone through.

She wanted to sit up, call for a doctor, a nurse, someone, and demand that they bring her daughter to her, that they tell her she was awake, but...but something was wrong. Something at the edge of her awareness, like a limb she hadn't known she'd had, something at the edge of her mind was burning, with pain, with fear, and a voice, calling out-

* * *

Somewhere, far away, a woman closed her eyes, and released her last breath in a whisper of-

* * *

The moment he was allowed to leave the infirmary, Daniel retreated to his office, the obol he had been given clutched firmly in one hand, and cold like ice against his fingers.

He hadn't had the heart to look too closely upon it before, but once he was safely ensconced away and surrounded by artifacts instead of grieving, pitying eyes...

He turned the lamp on, and held the object up to its light.

Almost completely transparent, the obol cast a pale blue shadow against the wood of his desk.

He stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments, mulling over what Deia Marouse had said, and John's almost fanatical hope that their friends were still alive somehow.

He hadn't known Crichton very long, less than a month, actually, but what had become obvious within days was that despite the calm at the surface, everything the once-missing-now-found astronaut had gone though had left him...deeply scarred, to say the least.

Not that Daniel wasn't fascinated at the stories he had to tell, but...

He could get extremely distanced from reality at times.

There was no reason for Daniel to let the man's...hope wasn't really the right word for it, but Daniel couldn't think of any others that weren't incredibly demeaning...get to him. There was no reason to believe that Sam and Jolinar could still be alive.

Except for all of the other times someone on their team had been given up for dead, only to turn up days or weeks or months later, alive at the very least, even if not particularly well or kicking.

But those thoughts only led to dangerous territory, and he clenched his teeth, trying to ward the thought of Sha're away.

Amaunet was still out there, somewhere. Even the Tok'ra couldn't be sure of her movements, but if one of the last surviving Goa'uld Queens had been slain, they would know about it. Whatever group managed to get their hands on her wouldn't hesitate to grab the bragging rights that went along with helping rid the galaxy of the Goa'uld threat once and for all.

He didn't want to imagine what would happen if anyone but Earth managed to catch her. They knew enough now about the Goa'uld for him to realize that Sha're was still concious, was aware of everything her body was forced to do without her permission. Everything Amaunet felt, Sha're would feel.

Including pain.

Breathing in shakily, Daniel let the hand holding the obol fall limply to the table, fingers curled protectively around the cold stone as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control, and just barely resisting the urge to run to the gate room, and demand that Walter allow him to go back to the planet, so that he could see for himself the poisonous water that had stolen his friend from him.

Maybe John was right after all. Maybe they were still alive. Maybe Deia Marouse's insistence that they not speak Sam and Jolinar's name was more than simple superstition.

He was on his feet and halfway out the door before the other words the old woman had spoken caught up with him.

They are now no longer as they were. You will endanger us all.

Daniel stopped walking, teeth clenched and eyes burning. Even if he was going to let John's fantasies infect him, even if he wanted to entertain the notion that it was more than superstition that prevented them from speaking their friend's names while on the other world...

He couldn't ignore the warning that had come with the other ideas.

Because even if it was more than superstition, Daniel didn't have the right to test that theory if it meant people could get hurt.

Deia Marouse had been terrified at the thought of them "calling" out to Sam or Jolinar. She had to have her reasons for why.

The warning alarm for an off-world activation interrupted the image of Sam rising from the murky swamp water as nothing more than a withered skeleton in its tracks, and, still standing in the doorway, he was in a perfect position to see Jack and Teal'c practically sprinting down the hallway back toward the gateroom.

He didn't hesitate for a second before following them, the obol still clutched firmly in his hand.

* * *

Col. Dave Dixon stepped through the Stargate, and tried not to let the cloying smell of the swamp he stepped out into show as disgust on his face.

An old woman was waiting at the bottom of the gate, as he'd been told to expect, perched on the shoulders of a muscular young girl that looked barely older than ten.

"Greetings, from Earth." He said, grinning widely as Wells and Balinsky stepped through behind him, followed shortly by Bosworth.

Cameron caught the tail end of his sentence, and sighed loudly. "Sir, is it really nessesary for you to-"

"Yes," The Colonel interrupted, still grinning, "Actually, it is."

It wasn't so much offending other cultures that he enjoyed, as it was offending people who got those he counted as friends hurt.

But still, he had a job to do, and he was going to do it. But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun, too.

The old woman spoke as they made their way down the steps, the girl whose shoulders she sat on moving forward to meet their pace. "You are the ones known as SG13?"

Dixon nodded, and motioned his team forward. "We are. Are you the one known as Deia Marouse?"

The woman tilted her head to the side, as though she knew he was mocking her, and nodded.

"Follow me." She said shortly.

The little girl carrying her turned smoothly around, and started off down the wooden platform that hugged the edge of the dense forest to their left without a single word, not even waiting for them to respond.

Dixon narrowed his eye, casting his gaze speculatively over the murky green water that waited beneath the supposedly-solid platform they were expected to walk across.

After a moment, he released a sigh, shrugged, and started after the old woman, knowing that his team would follow.

The moment his feet left the solid ground surrounding the Stargate, his senses were on high alert for anything out of the ordinary, determined that if there was any way of recovering Samantha Carter and Jolinar of Malkshur-whether for a proper burial, or an extended stint in the infirmary-he would find it, no matter what the cost.

He was sick of losing people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Patience.**

* * *

Serni swept through the stone corridor with impatience, paying little heed to the kesu that were forced to flee hurriedly to either side to avoid being run over.

He was fotaan, and it was their responsibility to make room for him, not the other way around.

He had somewhere he needed to be.

How long had it been, since he had last felt this level of excitement? Months? Years? The last summoning of fotaan he could recall had been the one for Kovuun, and he was hardly fitting company to keep. Jovuun before him had been less of an annoyance, and Krovanti barely left his cave long enough for Serni to remember he existed, but now?

Now there was someone new, and Serni wasn't going to spend a single second more wasting away in boredom. He was a scientist, for Ashna's sake, it was about time he was allowed to actually do something. It had been more than fifty years since Kovuun had been called, surely things had changed enough that he could learn something new from his soon-to-be caste-brother?

The Novatorium was just ahead, and he could already see a crowd of curious kesu and shovar gathering outside its entryway. They wouldn't be allowed in, of course, only those of equal or higher caste to the one being awoken were permitted to view the ceremony, but once the awoken left the chamber, all were free to converse with and examine them.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" He called, drawing the attention of the crowd and causing them to move as one to either side and backwards so that he had a clear path to the door.

He scowled. He shouldn't have even needed to call out. If any of them had been paying even a kot of attention, they would have sensed him before he was even close enough to require them to move.

Hmph. No matter. It had been two years since the last summoning of any caste, and he couldn't fault them for being excited.

The large archway that served as the Novatorium's door was blocked by a shimmering blue haze that prevented anyone outside from seeing in, but he passed through it without a second thought, grinning widely at the privileges allowed him by his caste.

Made almost entirely from iridescent black metal and lit by several hundred points of light that floated freely against the darkness like stars, the Novatorium was huge, designed to be able to hold several thousand individuals with ease.

Pentagonal in shape, only the wall that housed the entryway was a flat surface. The other four formed stairs leading up to the ceiling, and chairs of various sizes and make filled these platforms, which only ever saw use during a grand summoning, when the presence of all members of the Ashnari Enclave were required, regardless of caste.

Not so for this occasion, and Serni was disappointed to see that he was the first to arrive, which meant he was going to have to wait for the others.

But, lucky for him, the newcomer had already arrived, and lay unconscious upon the raised dais in the center of the room.

The lowest section of the Novatorium and the dais connected to it were the only surfaces with color, and were, at the moment, shifting seamlessly from their normal white, to ice blue, to dark blue, and back again.

Serni's eyes lit up as he finally caught sight of the creature lying upon the dais. They were fotaan, alright, not that he had doubted the summons.

The dais had sapped all color from the creature for the moment, so he couldn't be entirely sure what its personality would be like, but he was hopeful that it would be somewhat closer to his than the other fotaan.

Its size-small, if you were to compare it to Krovanti, but larger than Serni himself by several counts-placed it somewhere in the lower range of all current fotaan, which made him optimistic about his chances of finding the newcomer agreeable.

Size was determined by level of aggression, ability to question things others took for granted, and overall ability and willingness to defend oneself and others.

The creature was currently curled into a ball, as they all slept before being awoken, its face hidden behind its arms, sleeping peacefully.

As he moved around the dais, he was simultaneously shocked and delighted to see that there were not one, but two fotaan waiting to be awoken.

The second one was only slightly smaller than the first, and lay curled against the other's back, facing the opposite direction so that their shoulders touched, and their hair-short, wispy translucent strands-intertwined.

That would explain the fluctuations in the floor then. It wasn't unheard of for fotaan to contain multiple soul colors, but more likely than not that they would have only one. If he had to guess, he would wager that the larger one would turn out to be the owner of the deep blue color.

Serni's earlier impatience suddenly returned full force, and he spun back toward the door, wishing that he didn't have to wait for the others. Krovanti alone would take ages to arrive, but Kovuun and Jovuun were known to wander off on their own for hours at a time. There was no telling how long it would take before the ceremony could be properly begun.

Growling in his frustration, he spun once more to face the center of the room, then moved with sharp motions towards the ceiling high above, where he would at least be able to listen to the choles sing through the walls while he waited.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, and for an unmeasurable amount of time, Jolinar simply hung, suspended within nothingness with only her mind for company, her body either completely numb, or...

...she didn't really want to consider the alternatives. There were no sights, no sounds, no smells...nothing.

But at the very edge of her awareness, like a welcome hand resting against cold fingers, she could feel Sam.

And it brought enough comfort for her to drift quietly somewhere in between waking and dreaming.

* * *

Sam opened her eyes, and spent a few moments contemplating the signals her body was sending her.

Her head was lighter, weighed down only by her own thoughts and emotions. This fact, however, was not alarming. She could sense Jolinar next to her, similarly taking mental stock.

She was lying on a hard surface that felt like stone, only smoother, that hummed slightly to the touch. She wasn't cold, but a shiver still ran down her spine when she sat up, the whisker-like tentacles trailing from her head like hair brushing against Jolinar's, granting her a momentary flash of the emotions swirling through her mind.

Alarm, confusion, and relief.

Sam braced her hands against the surface below her, and turned her head to look down at her body.

Her skin was almost translucent, it was so pale, but even as she watched, colors began to fade into the otherwise white skin, starting from where she was still touching the surface below her, and traveling upward, toward her head.

Her tail-muscular and strong and ending with a long fin like a shark's-was slowing changing from translucent, to pale tan, and finally to a shade of brown somewhere in between dark and light, with darker stripes fading in along her back even as she watched.

Blinking, she lifted herself upright with her arms-pale tan, with the dark stripes fading into small spots as they neared her hands-and shook her head from side to side, trying to dispel the feeling of confusion that felt like it didn't belong.

The silvery tendrils that were her hair sensed every movement and heartbeat around her, pinpointing the exact locations of...

She turned to look over her shoulder, suddenly realizing that she and Jolinar weren't alone.

She wasn't really sure what she was called, but she knew without a doubt that the four creatures hovering a few feet away were the same as she was.

They varied greatly in size, with the largest-dark red with chaotic black streaks and irregular patches of white-towering several feet above the rest, and twice as muscled as any of the others, and the smallest a pale, lanky thing with large splashes of varying shades of yellow and pale gold across its body.

Two more floated by them, one with skin almost solid dark blue but for the white at the tip of its tail and arms, and another red one, though its shade was closer to a pale orange-pink than true red, with silvery scales scattered along its chest that shimmered when it moved.

She sensed Jolinar sitting up beside her, and as though her movement was some unspoken signal, the largest creature moved forward.

It didn't stop when it reached the surface they were sitting on. Instead, it continued toward them, leaning forward until it was positively looming over Sam, its face inches away from hers, so that she could see every fleck of gold within its startlingly green eyes.

Anxiety began to creep down her spine when the creature refused to back away after a few moments, and she felt the frills on the side of her head beginning to flare up in agitation. Still, it didn't move away.

A snarl pulled her lips away from her teeth, and rolled across her tongue.

And still it didn't move. Didn't even flinch.

"Get back!" One of Jolinar's hands slapped against the surface they were sitting on with a sharp crack, and Sam recoiled back as silvery tendrils were suddenly in front of her face. Jolinar had moved in front of her, and had her face just barely a hand's breadth away from the creature's.

Sam couldn't see her face, but the tendrils of her own hair were mixed with Jolinar's, and she could feel the snarl pulling her lips back as though she were the one moving.

It took her a moment to remember that she had been snarling before Jolinar got between her and the thing.

And it still hadn't moved.

One of the others behind it made a sound-something like a high-pitched chitter-that Sam instinctively recognized as a laugh.

"Krovanti, I think that is enough." It was the dark blue one that spoke, moving forward so that it was just behind the larger one's shoulder.

Sam tensed further, her fingers curling into claws, the frills on the side of her head shooting outward and turning blood red in a threat display she couldn't even control. A wordless snarl tore out of her throat, and hung in the air like a weight, muffled the moment it left her mouth.

The...air.

That wasn't right.

The red one-Krovanti?-tilted its head to the side slightly, then straightened back up to its full height, and with a single kick of its massive tail, shot toward the ceiling high above, leaving an explosion of tiny bubbles behind in its wake.

Bubbles?

But Sam couldn't pay attention to that. Jolinar-her webbed hands resting on the surface beneath them, the tip of her tail flickering from side to side in agination, her skin a dark blue only a shade greyer than the one with the white hands, and covered in the same stripes that Sam now had-was glaring up at the three creatures still hovering a few feet away. "Where are we, what have you done to us?" She snapped, her voice sounding alien to Sam's ears.

It suddenly occurred to her that she'd never heard Jolinar speak without her mouth shaping the words.

How strange.

The confusion was in the back of her mind again, struggling to overwhelm her, even as she felt it washing over her from Jolinar's mind.

For a moment, she clung to the feeling of rightness, of belonging, of normalcy. Because this was normal, this was supposed to happen. There was nothing strange about any of this. She was safe and what else mattered?

Then Jolinar rose up, her tail swishing in a sudden, sure motion so that she was abruptly upright, and the tendrils of their hair were suddenly pulled away from each other.

Like a rubber band snapping into place, Sam felt Jolinar's mind suddenly leave hers, and every single one of her instincts screamed to life.

Because as normal and safe as the situation felt, she knew that being apart from Jolinar could never be right.

It was like she'd suddenly woken from a dream, or been slapped in the face.

One moment, she was wary but also calm, and then-

And then she'd moved, so quickly and with such thoughtless precision she wasn't even sure how she got where she was going, and had her arms wrapped tightly around Jolinar from behind, her head resting against her shoulder and neck so that their tentacle hair was once more entwined, and Jolinar quickly twined their tails together.

But it wasn't right. Now that she had felt the emptiness of being alone in her mind, she could feel what she hadn't noticed before.

The distance between them. She could feel Jolinar's thoughts, but it wasn't right. She was only sensing them, they weren't apart of her own mind.

They'd been separated.

And once that realization hit her, the entire situation suddenly crashed over her like a tidal wave.

She had a tail. She had a shark's tail. She had a shark's tail, and the patterns of a shark on her skin, and she had webbed fingers and there were webbed frills on her face that she could see out of the corner of her eye, now turning a bright, sickly yellow.

It felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. She couldn't breathe. She opened her mouth to draw in a breath, but it didn't help.

It was the same terrifying feeling she had felt after being pushed into the swamp.

She was about to panic, but the yellow creature chose that moment to move, darting towards her so quickly she didn't even have time to think before its hands were on her arms at the same time that she saw it use its massive tail to push Jolinar away, prying them apart in a single smooth motion.

Having her symbiote's mind dragged away from hers again only caused a whole new swell of panic and fear to surge through her, and she struggled against the hands restraining her, crying out in wordless pain in a high, screeching cry that she could feel vibrating through the water.

And they were underwater. She couldn't see it-it was as clear as air, but she knew, God, she knew.

"Let me go!" She snarled, terrified and confused, "Let me go! What have you done to us? Let me go!"

The yellow creature's frills were framing its face in red-orange, and its large eyes were sharp and glaring.

Behind it, the huge red one, Krovanti, was holding Jolinar still, its arms trapping hers to her sides, its tail wrapped around hers so that she couldn't move an inch. Its frills were closed, hanging limply down the sides of its face like whiskers.

The one holding Sam pressed its face close to hers, staring directly into her eyes so that she couldn't look away. "Be still!" It hissed, "You are overreacting! I only moved you because you were pressing your gills against the other one, and obviously you are too stupid to realize that you need them to breathe!"

One of the others made a noise, like they were clearing their throat. Then it spoke, quickly but firmly. "Serni, I think that something has gone wrong here. They shouldn't be acting this way. They think that we did this to them."

The dark blue one moved into Sam's line of sight, and placed a hand on Krovanti's shoulder. "I think that you should release it, Krovanti. It is afraid of us, and we need to know why."

Serni-the yellow one holding Sam-drew its head back, staring at her with a new intensity. After a moment, its frills abruptly drained of all color until they were pure white, and it released its hold on her as though she were a rabid dog about to bite.

"You-you truly do not know what has happened to you?" Its voice was shocked, and it backed away, using its webbed hands to push itself slowly back toward the others, just as Krovanti finally released Jolinar, who had been trembling with rage, but moved back to Sam's side without hesitation.

Were these things deaf? How many times had they already demanded to know what had been done to them?

Sam breathed in deeply, shocked to feel the-not air, water-flowing through her neck instead of her mouth. She reached one hand up, and felt with trembling fingers something she hadn't noticed before. Several smooth flaps of skin that were slowly rising and falling with every breath she took, positioned at the base of her throat. Running her fingers down her neck, her hand slid right over them. They opened from the bottom, exactly like a fish's gills.

Now she understood why she hadn't been able to breathe before. She'd had her chin resting on Jolinar's shoulder. And since she only had one set of gills, unlike a normal fish, she'd pretty much done the equivalent of shoving a pillow over her own face.

It made perfect sense.

Except for the part where none of it did.

"How-" She struggled to find her voice, and thought of a better question than the one she'd been about to ask. "What do you want from us?"

The creatures were all floating in front of them now, the huge red one, the blue and white one, the pinkish one, and the yellow one that had grabbed her.

The pinkish-red one moved forward slightly, its webbed hands held up in what Sam hoped was a sign of peace. But with those claws, she couldn't be sure.

It slowly lowered its hands, as though sensing her thoughts, and its teeth-filled mouth slowly opened, and it spoke. "This has been a misunderstanding." It said soothingly, sounding an awful lot like Daniel when he was trying to convince someone that they weren't Goa'uld, "We want nothing from you, and we will not do you any harm. But we are...confused." It hesitated. "Did you not choose to join us?"

Sam stared, incredulous. "Did I choose to join you? No! No, I didn't! We didn't!"

The creature drew back, as though she'd slapped it. "But-but how are you here if you did not choose to join the Enclave?" Its frills suddenly turned yellow-orange. "You were not coerced were you? Into speaking the codeword?" It sounded horrified.

The yellow creature made a rapid clicking noise that something in Sam's head translated as a snort of derision, and swept one hand through the water sharply "Kovuun, don't be a fool. That is not how the initiation works. You think the beast cannot tell the difference between coercion and sincerity? No one tricked into saying the word is brought here. She taught it better than that."

Jolinar let out a low hiss that stopped Kovuun in the middle of opening his mouth to speak, turning all eyes towards her.

"Release us." She hissed in a deadly whisper that sent...Serni? Backing up a few more inches. The others didn't move.

When no one reacted to her demand, Jolinar let out a deep snarl that, had it not been Jolinar making the sound, would have scared Sam half to death. It sounded like it was coming from some monstrous demon dog or something, not-not a mermaid.

Krovanti finally let out a sound, the first one Sam had heard him make. He cleared his throat. Or at least, he did something similar enough that Sam couldn't tell the difference.

When he moved forward, he did so slowly, using his hands to push him through the water instead of his tail.

He didn't get too close this time, pausing a few feet away instead. He tilted his head up towards the high ceiling, baring his pale throat for them to see.

Something inside Sam was calmed by the sight. Krovanti was massive. If he wanted to, he could snap her-them-in half like a twig. But he wasn't being threatening. He was…

The strange thought rose in the back of her mind, instinctive even though Sam knew they weren't her instincts.

He was giving them dominance over himself. By baring his throat, he was giving them the opportunity to kill him.

Serni was the first to realize what Krovanti was doing, and a jolt ran from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, as though he'd been violently electrocuted.

"You cant't just-" his horrified screech was cut off mid sentence as Kovuun moved past him and towards them, using his hands to swim like he had before, and like Krovanti had just done.

He, too, tilted his head back to face the ceiling, baring his throat.

The blue and silver one followed not a moment later, again repeating the act, again to Serni's utter horror.

He trembled from head to tail, his hands spasming as though he were having a seizure, staring from his comrades to Sam and Jolinar, and back again.

"HAVE YOU ALL GONE MAD?!" His shriek was almost deafeningly loud, and it seemed to slam into Sam's head like a hammer blow.

A moment later, she felt the disturbingly alien sensation as the tendrils that were her hair pulled themselves into tight spirals, contracting around her skull and immediately shutting off all of her awareness of sound and motion.

It was like suddenly being plunged into the deepest darkness, unable even to tell if your eyes were open, every one of your senses playing tricks on you in the absolute void.

She could still see the others in front of her, she could still move her hand through the water and feel it, but she could hear nothing, and she could feel nothing from the world around her.

She had barely noticed it before, but now in its absence, she felt blinded. Gone was the languid drift and flow of the currents around her. Gone were the pulsing heartbeats she had felt like feathers against her skin, letting her know she wasn't alone. Gone were all the sensations and information she hadn't even realized she'd been picking up and cataloging as easily as a human catalogued the things it touched or tasted.

And gone was Jolinar.

Sam had felt violated before. Sam had felt fear before. Sam had felt alone before.

But this, this was some entirely new torture.

She was now trapped in the cage of her mind, half her senses obliterated, half her world completely and utterly gone.

She could still see, and she still had a sense of touch.

But it might as well have been a single drop of water after a month in the desert.

She could look out through her eyes and see that the same thing had happened to everyone else-Jolinar, Serni, Krovanti, Kovuun, and the blue one who's name she didn't know-and she could reach her hands out and cling so tightly to Jolinar it felt like all her bones would break, but it wasn't enough.

It felt like she'd been disconnected from her body, like she was half-asleep, or watching a movie about someone else. She could feel Jolinar's arms around her, could feel her tail twined with hers, but none of it felt real, none of it had any meaning.

In fact, it was almost terrifying.

She knew it was Jolinar she was hugging, knew it was her symbiote.

But in this half-destroyed world where nothing felt real, a voice in her mind began to whisper hurriedly, frantically, how could she know for sure?

Almost like a memory, like a flashback, horror coiled in her stomach, and the arms and tail she had wrapped around Jolinar suddenly burned with fire as though a thousand insects were burrowing under her skin.

She wasn't even aware of flinching away. She wasn't aware that she had moved until she was already ten feet away, ten feet higher than she had been before, but she didn't stop there, she couldn't stop there.

She fled towards the ceiling until the cold metal prevented her from moving any further, and she pressed her clawed hands against it, almost considering the idea of trying to dig her way through in her fear.

But she knew that escape was impossible. This metal had existed for thousands of years before she was even born, and it would stand for another thousand after she died.

She she pushed herself into a corner where two of the walls met the ceiling, and turned her darker back towards the room in a futile attempt to conceal herself.

Then she closed her eyes, and the entire world fell away from existence.

* * *

Col. Dixon sat cross-legged on one of the overstuffed pillows the...unnamed village...used in place of chairs.

The small house Deia Marouse had led him and his team to was made of surprisingly bright colored wood, and smelled pleasantly of cooking meat.

Of course, he had no idea what kind of meat was slow-cooking over the heap of coals in the fire-pit in the middle of the room, but anything that smelled that mouthwateringly good, he was more than willing to try.

Dr. Cameron Balinsky sat next to him on another pillow, staring around the house with rapt and undisguised curiosity.

Jake and Simon-and damn if that didn't still feel weird knowing someone else named Simon-were being shown around the village by volunteers, and were allowed to be absent from this little meeting so that they could be shown how the residents of the unnamed village hunted and gathered their food.

They didn't farm, or at least, not in any organized sense of the word. If they found a plant that was good to eat, they'd put up a fence around it so it couldn't be destroyed by some of the larger herbivores, and they'd sometimes try to guide to plant into growing closer to the village, but that was about it.

They never purposefully planted seeds or cleared ground to plant seeds in, which, if you asked Dave-or was it David? He couldn't be bothered to remember-was seriously stupid.

Now, he couldn't fault them for just wanting to be lazy, but they weren't being lazy. They were just being...stupid.

Why waste all your time and energy encouraging a plant that was half a mile away from your village to start leaning closer, when all you had to do was dig it up and move it closer?

Or at least collect seeds from it, or build houses by it, or at least a pit stop, so a lot of fruit could be gathered at once and then stored until it could be brought back to the village.

Dave-David, whatever-snorted in disgust.

Because these people apparently enjoyed making their lives harder than they had to be. Because if someone wanted a price of fruit, they had to go all the way out into the swampy jungle to get it.

Deia Marouse had said it was good for their health to walk a lot, but she'd obviously never heard the expression, an apple a day keeps the doctor away. All you had to do was eat the freaking apple, not go tramping half a mile one way just to get it.

And speaking of Deia Marouse, the old hag was nowhere to be seen.

She'd led them to this house-or rather, the kid whose shoulders she rode around on lead them here-told them to sit down, and then had disappeared through the door at the far end of the room, which lead to who-knows-where.

And...that had been almost twenty minutes ago.

Dixon glanced down at his watch.

Correction, she'd disappeared almost half an hour ago.

He sighed loudly, and leaned backwards so he could stare up at the arched ceiling, pulling his hands from where they'd been crossed over his chest so he could lean his weight against them.

Hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of circular paintings barely the size of his hand. They spun lazily in the small updraft created by the hot coals, reflecting dully in the bit of sunlight that came in from the smoke escape at the very top of the arched roof.

Along high shelves adorning the walls were various containers, some brightly decorated with intricate designs, some plain wood, and some simple woven baskets with lids. There were also small stacks of fabric scattered about, some of which had what looked like knitting needles on top of them.

He saw Cameron glance at him out of the corner of his eye, and, abandoning his survey of the room, turned to his team member before he could pretend he hadn't been looking.

Cameron tried anyways, without much success. After quickly turning away from his commanding officer, he suddenly became very interested in stitching in the pillow he sat on.

Dixon rolled his eyes. "You know, I know this is our first real mission together, but I'm not going to suddenly go haywire. I need this job."

Cameron made a show of looking surprised, as though he hadn't been watching him to see if he was going to snap.

And by snap, he meant watching to see when Col. Dave/David Dixon was going to make a break for the Stargate with whatever valuables he could get his hands on.

Cameron furrowed his brow, now at least looking surprised and confused. "I didn't say you were going to go haywire." He raised one eyebrow. "I mean, unless you think I should be worried about that sort of thing."

Dixon snorted loudly, and shook his head, returning his attention to the ceiling. "Whatever you say, Balinsky. Whatever you say."

He didn't feel like trying to defend himself, even jokingly. And he could tell Cameron was joking, by the way his-

Dixon sat up so abruptly he almost overbalanced and went face first into the floor. He stared at the archaeologist with renewed intensity, his gaze skirting him from head to toe, before scanning the floor around him, searching desperately, desperately for the flash of movement he could have sworn he'd seen.

Bad acting aside, he wouldn't have known Balinsky was joking about worrying about him. Dixon had known he'd been lying about looking at him, but whether or not Cameron actually thought he was going to go crazy was a mystery.

But it wasn't.

Because he'd seen-

The space around Cameron was empty.

Dixon smacked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand, hard enough to sting.

"God-dammit." He swore, clenching his hands into fists. "Gorramit, this is the-"

The what? The hundredth time it had happened? He didn't know when he'd lost track.

Cameron was still sitting, but now he was tense, alarm and worry clear in every inch of his body.

Dixon didn't need-didn't need anything else to be able to see that.

He wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him that, no, you don't need to bring me back to Earth, and, no, I'm not going to go crazy again-

But the pain in his head felt way better than the pain in his chest, or the heat in his eyes, and he had to struggle not to reach up and start pulling his own hair out.

He carefully folded his hands in his lap, bowed his head over them, and tried to control his breathing.

He was trembling, from rage, from shock, from fear, from misery.

Sometimes he would go days without getting a glimpse of...of them. And those days were better than others.

If he didn't see them, then it was easier to forget.

An insane laugh bubbled up in his chest, fighting to get free.

And what a thing to forget.

Your own goddamn soul, ripped away from your body. How was anyone supposed to forget that?

For a minute or two, the only sound in the room was the creak of the walls in the wind, and the sound of his breathing, slowly edging back towards calm.

Finally, Cameron spoke, his voice quiet, now free of any accusation, however light it had been before. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Dixon looked up at that, staring at his team member in sudden suspicion.

The only ones who had actually taken him seriously about it before were Dr. Jackson and Sam and Jolinar. Everyone else had just written him off as insane.

Cameron had been made aware of it, just like the rest of his team had, but this was the first time he'd actually brought it up since they'd met a few weeks ago.

What was he supposed to say? He didn't even know how much Cameron already knew. He'd tried explaining it to Dr. Jackson, but...but it was almost impossible.

How could you explain to someone that they shouldn't be alive? How could he explain that seeing them walk around talking as if everything were normal and fine, was as horrifying and wrong as watching someone with a mortal wound do the same?

He couldn't explain to them what was wrong with them, because they didn't know anything different.

But he did.

What was he supposed to say?

He dropped his gaze to the floor, clenching his hands into fists again.

"There ain't nothing to talk about." He muttered.

Cameron wasn't dissuaded. He changed the topic-slightly. "You know your accent gets stronger when you're upset? To be honest, I barely understood anything you just said.

Dixon looked up, confused. "What?"

Cameron smiled. "Okay, now that I understood. You don't even realize you're doing it, do you? Come on, we're lucky enough already that these people speak mostly English, I don't want to start having to translate for you too, okay? I'm the civilian here." He pointed at his chest for emphasis. "My job is supposed to be the easiest."

It took Dixon a moment to realize what the archaeologist was saying. Then he scowled in annoyance. "I'd like to see you do any better." He retorted. More than half the words he knew, and he couldn't use them because these backwater earthlings didn't understand them.

He had to focus on every word that came out of his mouth, racking his memory to figure out its origin. If it was originally from the English language, then he could use it, if it was originally from Mandarin, then he couldn't. It had gotten easier with practice, but...as Cameron had so kindly pointed out, if he was upset, he didn't bother with focusing on which words he used.

He growled, getting even more annoyed.

He'd thought he'd seen something, but it was gone now. Or rather, it hadn't been there to begin with. He was just grasping at straws, trying to make himself see what he wanted to see.

Turning his anger outward, he snapped, focusing carefully this time so Cameron would understand him, "Where the heck is that old woman? I thought we came here to arrange a trade deal. How are we supposed to do that if she ain't here to negotiate?"

Suddenly he remembered the meat cooking in the fire-pit in front of them, and the faint glimmer of a similar situation prodded the back of his mind.

He blinked, annoyance suddenly gone, and stared at the blackened pot the heavenly smell was emanating from, suddenly feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

"Oh."

Cameron looked confused, following Dixon's gaze without comprehension. "'Oh' what?"

Dixon resisted the urge to smack himself in the face again.

"Oh, she left us in here by ourselves on purpose." How could he not have realized it sooner? "I'm the leader of the team-" he caught the amused skepticism in Cameron's expression, and shot him a quick glare- "And you're the smart one. They're giving us the opportunity to figure out what we want to ask for, and what we're willing to offer in return."

He gestured to encompass the entire room, looking at all it contained in a new light. The villagers were showing off. The paintings that hung like wind chimes, the fabrics, even whatever heavenly thing they had cooking away in the stew pot.

It was all designed to get their attention, and, more importantly, to make them want to buy it.

Dixon looked at the stew pot, contemplating it, and sniffing deeply at the air, another important question poking incessantly at the back of his mind.

How would they know when it was done cooking?

Because if this village's traditions were as similar to the ones he knew as he now hoped, Deia Marouse wouldn't be rejoining them until they had eaten.

Or maybe she would come back in when the food was ready. He couldn't really be sure.

But it didn't matter for the moment, and he got to his feet, drawing another confused look from Balinsky. Dixon rolled his eyes and held a hand out to help the archaeologist to his feet. "In other words." He said slowly, smiling, "We're supposed to be playing with all this stuff."

Cameron's eyes lit up in excitement almost immediately, and Dixon pulled him to his feet with ease.

Cameron started towards one of the shelves that held some especially old-looking clay pots, but Dixon held up a hand to stall him.

Cam looked at him in confusion, and Dixon suddenly felt embarrassed, and put a hand to the back of his neck self-consciously. A habit he'd picked up from way too many desert planets where he got burned on his back and shoulders.

"Uh, one last thing before you go all kid in a candy store on me."

"Sure, what is it?"

"...Is my cover name Dave, or David?"

* * *

SG13-the last mission scheduled out until tomorrow-had been gone for little over three hours when it happened.

Walter was starting to get used to it.

There was no dial up sequence, no chevrons locking, nothing that computers could detect that would sound the warning alarms.

One moment, he was doing a standard checkup on the computer's systems, and the next-

And the next moment, he was looking up at the familiar sound of a wormhole opening.

He saw the wave of not-water roll outward, saw it retract, and stared in disbelief at the dormant chevrons, and the computer still calmly running its diagnostics as though nothing were happening as the wormhole settled with barely a ripple in the confines of the Stargate.

For a split second, he hesitated.

And that split second was long enough for someone-something-moving too quickly to see-to come flying through the wormhole like someone tossed through the windshield of a speeding car.

The wormhole disengaged-or at least disappeared-barely a moment later.

Walter had gotten to his feet and slammed his hand down on the panic button only long enough after that for him to recognize the shape that had just slammed into the concrete wall opposite the gate as a human body.

A human body that was burned and bleeding, and now covered in brush burns as well from its tumble across the concrete.

A human body devoid of a single stitch of clothing, which did nothing but highlight the damage that had been done to it.

A human body that lay limply against the concrete wall below the glass window of the control room, its limbs lying rag-doll where they had fallen, its head bent at an awkward angle to stare with blank, open eyes up at the glass he stood behind.

He grabbed for the phone with hands that shook almost too much to hold it steady, and snapped, "Medical team to the gateroom! There's a-" he could barely believe what he was looking at. "We have a man down! It's another Crichton!"

Why did SG13 have to leave at almost midnight to get to their mission just after daybreak? Why did it have to be the middle of the night, when practically everyone else was at home asleep in their beds?

Why did people keep coming flying through the Stargate, and why was it always when Walter was on duty?

The nurses and doctors didn't waste any time. They beat the SFs to the Gateroom, something that would have been horrible if this were any normal unauthorized incoming wormhole situation.

But this wasn't normal.

Even if it was starting to seem so.

Walter stared down at the blank, expressionless face stand up at him from below, not sure whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or just scream, as the medics surrounded the body and began performing first aid.

He thought he would never see that face again.

He sat back down in his chair in front of the computer still calmly running its self-checks, his entire body shaking, when they finally lifted her up onto a gurney, and wheeled Major Samantha Carter towards the infirmary.


End file.
